Krenzik's War II Part 2
by TheManipulator
Summary: Jay tries out a new welder and ends up going headtohead with Phelan, kingpin of the very black market that has served as the Lady Of Libron II's patron and political ally.


Krenzik's War II-Part 2  
Author: Manipulator  
Word Count: 10,131  
Rating: M  
Spoilers: From "Pegasus" to shortly after "Resurrection Ship Pt. 2"  
Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica" is the property of NBC/Universal  
Notes: For the new readers, this story follows the eight parts of "Krenzik's War," "Shadows and Reflections," (written with ViperChickKaliyla) and the first part of KWII. So if you haven't read the preceding, you should, otherwise you may find yourself a little lost.

THE LADY OF LIBRON II  
Class II Heavy Freighter  
Libron Reg. #AFM-9944-03A

Crew manifest (revised)

Flight Crew: Captain Brad Stengler  
Executive Officer Milt Jeffers  
Navigator Linda Moore  
Communications-Steve Mitchell

Maintenance: Foreman Jay Krenzik  
Hyperdrive Tech: Marty Samuels  
Mechanics: Toby Dempsey  
Nick Sorg  
Ed Coursen  
Welder: Candi Suvius

Cargo: Shipping Clerk Mike Briar  
Forklift operators: Dan Fitch  
Bobby Kessey  
Nurse: Joe Pinklon  
Cafeteria: Lina Hoffer  
Neil Mentz

I

"We have a problem," Jasper Bertrand said, pointing out his grand viewport at the Colossus that dwarfed the Galactica. "And her name is Admiral Helena Cain."

I sat at the Councilman's laquered dining room table with the underground "Who's Who" of the trade network. We were the guys, as Bertrand put it the first time I came here, who got it done before lunch. Many sat in dark-colored work uniforms like mine, or jumpsuits. There were three men who wore flight uniforms signifying they were the few captains who didn't need a mouthpiece between them and Zenar, who frownded next to Bertrand. His eyes tracked the Battlestar Pegasus ferry traffic to Adama's little Galactica.

Jeff Rheinar, the graying Maintenance Chief of the heavy freighter Seventh Star, leaned over to me.

"That thing looks like it's got more guns than toilets. Geez."

He was right. I had never seen a Mercury Class Battlestar this closely before. In battle, a ship like Galactica would be purely backup to a flagship like the Pegasus, which is why, I supposed, an Admiral was at the helm.

Jo Caribon, the Foreman for the long-range tug/hauler Anvil XIV, shifted in her seat, raised a weathered hand. I realized then I was the youngest, by far around this table. These men and women were all Caffrey's age or older, with the exception of two of the three ship captains, from the Gideon and the repair platform, respectively. I decided to keep my mouth shut for once and listen before speaking. It dawned on me, then, a big reason Bertrand took such a liking to me. I was one of the few there young enough to be around him as his quest for power and an immortalized name played out to its end.

"The military doesn't give a frak about us now. Why would she care if--"

Zenar turned, raised a hand to silence her.

"You," he began, nodding to all of us. "All of you remember what went down on the outer lanes around Leonis and Aquaria around fifteen years ago? Then-Captain Cain stopped three years of hit-and-run by pirates in ten days. She took no frakkin' prisoners, got the Bronze Star and a promotion clean over Major to full Colonel. She's itching to drop the hammer. She'll come looking for us, with double the resources. Commander Adama will do just what he's told and…"

As Zenar blathered on, my eyes trained on the view. Suddenly, the lazy crisscrossing of raptors between the ships became…busy. The starlit gap between them filled with vipers flooding out of Galactica's launch tubes, and Pegasus returned the favor, with three times as many--as if two angry swarms of hornets finally had enough.

Soon, Phelan's man trailed off as he discovered the impending chaos outside. Mona burst through the double doors, her placid face almost as white as her crisp blouse.

"Councilman! I'm sorry to interrupt, but--"

"We see it!"

"The bridge has their signal, sir."

"Patch it through on the speakerphone, Mona."

The major players in the "new economy" were absolutely helpless around the table. No wheeling and dealing would stop the military from pummeling each other. Actually, just looking at the two mammoth war machines, Admiral Cain was poised to be the new strong arm of the fleet--perhaps the only arm if she could provoke Adama into a stare-down. The Vipers intermingled, seemingly playing chicken, as the static hissed over the white box in the middle of the table. No doubt about it, both sides were in combat, just waiting for the signal to open fire.

Marty was aboard Galactica. He was loading shells, learning how to run an FTL from their engineers and mechanics. I was partly to blame for him being stuck there for another month. I was the one who called in the favor to spring Stengler, and part of the deal was to give up one of my guys for eight weeks. Marty, the Lady's 19-year-old newjack, wanted to learn, to see the guts of a battlestar. That ship could have been his coffin, and all I could do was watch it go up in a manmade nova.

We had survived the Cylons, so far, a coup, anarchy, Colonel Tigh's reign of terror, but it seemed like humanity would finally go out with a bang. The human race would end because we finally found another battlestar, and it was full of assholes.

Zenar looked over to Bertrand.

"We need to get back to our ships ASAP and lock down. We'll go from--"

The wireless crackled as a weak signal gained strength as jump-sign flickered into the swarm.

"I'm friendly! We're all friendlies! So let's all just…be friendly!"

It was the familiar voice of Lt. Thrace, the one who brought the arrow to Kobol. She had jumped in, apparently in Galactica's homemade Viper--part muscle, part stealth. She evidently switched to a scrambled channel in mid-sentence after that, as the static returned. Within two minutes, both groups of fighters returned to their hangar decks, and all of us slumped in our chairs. Disaster had been avoided--for the time being.

II

Nick and Toby brandished two of our assault rifles at the aft airlock. They blathered in my ear everything that I already knew. The bad old days of two months ago were evidently back. This time, though, I had a feeling marines cutting through the hull would be the least of our worries.

Jeffers already gave the order for jump prep, and I dove immediately into my hole in the FTL room. I performed the systems check from the accompanying manual, written for those who knew what the frak they were doing. Before Caff died, I could have bellyached to the heavens about getting saddled with all the responsibility with a fraction of the know-how. Not now. I had to put on my boss face. I prayed that none of my guys would come down and see me walking with the huge binder open, trying to find which gauge, which control panel matched the one in the picture.

Jeffers signaled me over the intercom to pick up the phone. Mitchell patched in Diana, who was stuck aboard Colonial One. She and everyone else working late were shuffled down to the hold. All she could tell me was that Billy Keikeya indicated that Thrace managed to get the Commander and Admiral to call it off, and then Roslin demanded both meet her alone aboard Colonial One. Given the elapsed time, they were both probably with the President then.

"I don't know much," she said. I could tell others were in the room, because she corralled her fear into the tiniest undercurrent that people, save me, and maybe Billy wouldn't pick up in her voice. "But the President just herded the staff who were working late down below, and they're still in conference now. I don't think they'll turn their guns on each other, for the time being. It's hard to tell. Billy's trying to eavesdrop against the hatch."

There was nothing but silence from Bertrand and Zenar. For the second time, when the bottom was on the verge of falling out, they were nowhere to be found. So much for a plan. They were wholly impotent to stop what was happening, and I didn't have enough sway to call them up and bitch them out for their disappearing act.

Luckily, we never had to find out what we would have to do with a cut umbilical cord. The Gods of War managed to shelve their differences to give us a ringside seat to a little manmade starlight.

Two days after we avoided self-imposed Armageddon, the entire fleet jumped. I made a call to Diana, in which we drew solace from talking about everything except the possibility this could be the last time we ever spoke. 48 hours of killing time, prayer, and just watching the clock came to an end--it was show time. We snuck up to the observation deck after doing our jump prep, as Pegasus cruised in first, unleashing more fury from all four sides than Galactica could ever hope to cut loose. Vipers flooded from launch tubes as Galactica opened with all their batteries, taking down Raiders, and the Basestars impotently tried to defend themselves as their superstructures crumpled and burned.

A few weeks before, Galactica managed to shut down a huge armada of Cylon raiders without firing a shot. Then, after envisioning our own destruction, we saw three Basestars and another support ship collapse in the wake of long-overdue Colonial fury. We didn't just pop a bully in the mouth, the way we did when we took out their tylium refinery. We kicked the toasters right in the frakkin' nuggets. The fleet that had dogged us across the galaxy was done. They would send more, but the notorious Cylon arrogance didn't seem so big and bad any longer.

We received word, as we celebrated around the still that Admiral Cain had been shot in the head by an escaped Cylon prisoner. It didn't kill the mood. Bertrand gave a congratulatory call after everything that mattered was over as usual. I didn't bother to ask him what that great big master plan was, if Cain had managed to take over the fleet. That would have been the mood killer.

III

Normalcy came back within days. Seeing our military smash a Cylon fleet didn't make the notion of an escaped toaster all that frightening. We not only had the newly anointed Admiral Adama protecting us on Galactica, we also had the newly christened Beast, the Pegasus, at the ready--with much more sane leadership, this time. Rumor had it that one of the support ships destroyed in the battle was a hub for humanoid Cylon models to send their souls, if they had such things, once the body died. This time, they were playing it close to the vest, since they couldn't cheat death. We hadn't seen a Raider patrol in weeks. Now it was back to listening to pundits grumbling on the wireless, working the fleet, and pushing out the booze as the odd mystery crate from the Prometheus was brought aboard.

Marty returned, and freed me from the yoke of the FTL room. I was proud of how he kept such meticulous notes and held on to every paper they gave him. In a couple days, I was trained up almost as well as he was. A picture of him standing next to the now-destroyed Blackbird hung up on our bulletin board. With our FTL Tech in place, we decided it was time to put out the word for a new mechanic, to come another step closer to filling out the roster again. Given the premium on skilled technical labor, the only certified mechanics were either already entrenched with the ships they came on, or didn't want to leave their better digs elsewhere for my old bunk.

Jeffers, Stengler, and I decided it would be easier to get a welder, and move Toby into the mechanic's stable. He was already my second, and was educated in Industrial Electronics and Engine Repair in high school Vo-Tech. Welding school afterward was just gravy. Experienced welders also commanded a high price, but we got a couple feelers from people who were happy with what we offered. We tried out the first one on the list.

Candi Suvius was 18 years old, standing about chest-high to me. The morning she got to the Lady, she smiled and firmly shook my hand, eager to get started. I left her with Toby to see what she could do. Soon, he had her in the shop with torch in hand, her long dark hair, highlighted with thin blonde streaks, bound in a tight bun, before she slammed down the mask and got to work on some old scrap metal. Hard little muscles poked out from her wiry arms as she lit the flame on the stick welder. She claimed to have a year of Vo-Tech welding and some high school metal shop under her belt on Tauron. She was way too young to ever get taken seriously for a job before the worlds ended. Then again, I had a guy only a year older than she was in charge of intricate machinery that bent space and tore open interdimensional holes for us to jump through. Her, or someone like her, would simply have to figure it out or get plowed under.

After she proved she could at least weld a little, Toby gave her the grand tour, and she bounced along next to him like a puppy, as he introduced her to the flight crew, the rest of the gang, and the Lady, stem to stern. I saw them again at lunch. She sat to my right, wearing a tightfitting black turtleneck above her navy blue work pants and a worn pair of steeltoe boots that looked a little too big for her feet. The shirt made sense, considering she had to go with the insulated apron in lieu of Toby's welding suit, which was too cumbersome for her diminutive frame, but I could tell she was sweating in it. A green bandanna was tied around her pulled-up hair, knotted in the front to keep any stray locks at bay. She seemed a little nervous, but made a point to smile and look everyone in the eye.

"So," Ed asked her, as we wolfed down our spicy chicken patty entrees. "Where you from?"

"Tauron," she said, around a mouthful of macaroni salad. "Dravos Province."

Ed nodded. "Cool, but I meant what ship."

She paused, just a little too long, enough for all of us to crane our eyes toward her.

"I…I was on a passenger liner, then I was living on Picon Heavy 1459."

Toby raised an eyebrow, then looked to me.

"Hey, Jay, that's the liner with all the kids on it, right? Where you fixed up their air processor?"

I nodded. I wondered how she ended up there, at 18. Then again, they needed all the help they could get. Some people had to work in exchange for toilet paper.

"So," I said to Candi. "You know Elizabeth? The teacher onboard, right?"

She paused again, as if choosing her words very carefully.

"Yeah…yeah. She's a real nice lady."

I waited for her to elaborate, but she suddenly grew quiet as quickly as she opened up. Toby filled the gap before it became awkward.

"I figure when we get outta here, we'll see what Candi here can do with plasma and flux- arc."

She looked up, eyes widening.

"Flux arc?"

Toby's brow furrowed, as if she was asking him if Vipers could fly in space.

"Yeah. That's most of what we do around here, you know."

She squirmed a little in her chair, then nodded emphatically.

"Right…right. No problem."

She dove back into lunch without another word. I figured it was just nerves. She was the only girl, and young at that. There were times I forgot what a surly bunch we could be, especially locked up on this can most of the day.

Once our trays were dumped, Toby took Candi back down to the shop, and I poured over the schedule and decided who to send where. I sat in the empty mess hall sipping coffee when Jeffers called me to the cockpit.

He waved Candi's Driver's License in front of me, obviously not happy.

"Okay, Mr. Jeffers, it's not the best picture ever but--"

"Here," he said, handing it to me. "Tilt it in the light."

I did, and saw why I got the Milt Jeffers special frown. The workmanship wasn't bad, but upon close inspection, I could see that the card had been re-laminated, and the printing on her birth date was a little darker, and cut slightly into the inlaid hologram of the seal of Tauron. Candelaria Jennifer Suvius was lying about her age.

Stengler sidled up next to Jeffers, who now had a vein bulging on his neck. I'd seen him this angry before, but why he was now, I couldn't fathom. No one likes to be lied to, but he acted like I just told him she was the new Foreman.

"We looked over her ID because we received a call from Zenar on the Prometheus, about her," Stengler said. " He says she's a little hustler, probably trying to go from ship to ship to steal what she can and barter it. He said you needed to call him back immediately. Phelan has a gripe with her."

I fought the urge to shift my eyes from their gazes. It was my engine room, my problem.

"Figure it out," Jeffers muttered.

"I got it," I told them. "Just let me handle it."

"What about Zenar," the XO called, after me.

I turned one more time back to him.

"I said I'll take care of it."

Screw Zenar. It sure felt good to think it, because I knew I could never say it to his face. If he could wait days to break silence with the all-important network until Cain was dead, he could wait an hour or so until I took care of my business my way. If he wanted to run my engine room so badly, he could take my tool belt and dark grays and I could kick back all gangster cool on the Prometheus.

I looked down from the catwalk, spied Nick coming out of our breakroom. I called after him to send Toby up to my quarters. He tilted his neck and made a face.

"Uh, how come?"

I suddenly felt as if Jeffers had passed along a spark of the anger that coursed through him. I glared back, and clutched the railing until my knuckles turned white.

"Uh, because I told you to?"

"Shit, Krenzik, chill! I'll get him."

Nick clomped off to find Toby, muttering curses as only he could. I sat at the table in my room minutes later, waiting for my second to arrive.

She was bringing heat down on everyone aboard. I didn't like being lied to any more than I liked getting my balls busted by Milt Jeffers. I had a feeling Zenar wasn't telling the whole story either. If she was just a wannabe con artist why the urgency? We were being jerked around, it seemed, by two people. One of whom was sitting in my machine shop.

The hatch spun open, and Toby sat down, taking the opportunity to light a cigarette.

"If you wanna know how Candi's doing, it's not good. Beyond basic sheet metal, the girl doesn't know shit for somebody who says she had a full year of Vo-Tech. All she knew about the arc welder was how to turn the thing on."

I lit up a cigarette, decided not to tell him about the ID or Zenar's call. The last thing we needed was to get someone like Nick or Marty popping off about it while she was still here. Twitchy and hard to read, she was the only one with the whole story and I didn't want to give her time to ease out of telling it.

"Okay," I said. "I guess it looks like we got an overeager kid who wants a cushy gig. Not surprising. There isn't shit out there if you want more than C1 rations. Just send her up here. I'll let her down easy."

"Cool." Before he left, Toby turned back to me. "For what it's worth, she seems like she wants to learn though. I mean, it'd cost us more if we got--"

"We're not a tech school, Toby."

"I know, but--"

"Just send her up, here, man. We'll find somebody we can use later."

Toby nodded pensively. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right. I'd have to teach her from the ground up, anyway."

He closed the hatch behind him without another word.

I was getting played. I had Stengler and Jeffers on my shit. I had Zenar busting my nuggets, all because of one little girl. I made up my mind that she wasn't leaving this room until I got the truth out of her.

I thought about what I would say, how I would say it. Caff had a knack for putting someone at ease, yet could also assert his authority in no uncertain terms. He could have cajoled a duplicitous kid like this into giving him the whole truth and nothing but, and she would feel guilty for not giving it the first time. I didn't have the fatherly demeanor of age, nor the temperament to gently extract what I needed. A person had to be honest with himself about what he could do and what he couldn't. That was one lesson that was worth remembering from Caesar Kreska, my old pyramid coach. If he had actually practiced what he had preached he probably would have still had a job when the bombs dropped.

I lit up another smoke, fought to keep my psyche from giving into the streak of fear and anger that made me want to grab her by her long, skinny neck and toss her across the room when she arrived. I wondered what Caff would do again, even though I knew I wasn't capable of getting the desired result his way. I just hoped I didn't hate myself when I was done.

Knuckles hammered against my door. I bid her entrance, and the wheel spun.

She peeked around the hatch.

"You wanted me, Jay?"

I leaned forward, resting my cigarette in the ashtray, and glared at her.

"Shut the hatch. Sit down."

She paused for a moment, seeming to physically shrink under my gaze, then, after closing the door and spinning the wheel, she eased into the chair across from me.

I just stared at her, letting her resist the urge to squirm, see how long it would take for her to finally look me in the eye. After a couple seconds, I lost my patience.

"Why's Phelan got a problem with you?"

She froze, then, as she fished a smoke from her pocket, making an exaggerated effort to crease her brow in confusion as she tucked the cigarette in the corner of her mouth.

"Uh, who--"

I flicked the cigarette out of her mouth as I leaned forward, then slammed my fist on the table. The smack echoed off the bulkheads as I stopped short of headbutting her. She turned away, shaking, eyes downcast like a beaten dog.

"That's the last lie you tell me. You're bringing me heat. You're bringing shit to me and everybody on board. Why," I asked, snarling through clenched teeth.

Her lips pursed as red flushed through her face, but she remained silent, her eyes still blank, as if waiting out a bad storm. I fished her fake ID out of my pocket.

"Look at me," I told her. When she didn't move, I tapped her on the forehead, under her do-rag's knot. "I'm not tellin' you again. Look at me."

Her lips were a trembling line as she finally locked eyes with me and I held her card up.

"You think we're a bunch of godsdamned inbred hicks outta Libron who don't know any better? Hmmm?"

"N-no I--"

"Why'd you try to pass this off on my XO? Why?"

"I-I--"

"GET THAT FRAKKIN' HAMMER OUTTA YOUR MOUTH!"

She blinked at the spittle coming out of my mouth. This time, her arms drew up against her chest, as if she hoped she could just curl up out of existence. I eased back into my seat, threw the bogus driver's license in her lap. Her fingers scrambled, snapped it up, slid it back in her pocket.

"Zenar called up a little bit ago. Says Phelan wants to take a chunk outta your ass. Phelan's problems become Zenar's problems, and those are now mine. You better tell me the real deal, or I'll just dump you on the next shuttle and let him chew you up and spit you out. I still might anyway, so you better start talking."

Candi took a deep breath, looking up to me through her eyebrows.

"It's…it's a long story--"

"I got time. You don't. So get on with it."

"Okay. Okay, I'm seventeen. I really am from Tauron. And the government really put me on the Picon liner with the other kids. I'm--I was in 11th grade, half-through my first year of Vo-Tech welding. I don't know anything beyond stick and basic sheet."

She paused and straightened up in her seat. I could see that her fingers twisted and interlaced in her lap as she tried to gut the words out.

"No shit," I told her. "And?"

"I did help Miss Evers babysit the other kids, right? I got there after the air got fixed. I heard by you. It was pretty boring, really. And then, one day, before the Kobol thing, the pilot came down…"

Her jaw worked, and her eyes became shiny as she swallowed.

"Jay, can I please light up?"

Without a word I slid my lighter across the table. She fished one out and put it to the flame. The cherry burned a vibrant orange as she dragged hard.

"The pilot came down, asked to talk to Miss Evers out in the hall. We heard her shouting, and that freaked the little kids out--freaked me, too, 'cause she almost never yells. And that was when Phelan and Zenar came in, with some big dark-haired guy--bigger than you."

She took another hit, and she stared at the shiny veneer of the table, as if she were recounting what she saw in its surface. Smoke tumbled out of her mouth as she continued.

"Phelan just rolled in, backing up Miss Evers like she wasn't even there. And she was screaming at him, almost bawling. Telling him he couldn't take anybody and shit. Everybody just made 'em a path. Frak, you coulda heard a pin drop, right? Then Miss Evers started shoving him as he looked around the cabin. Then she slapped him, and everybody stopped. The pilot started kissing their asses, saying she didn't mean it. Then Phelan just looked over at the big dude, and he just…"

Candi shook her head then, as if she couldn't believe what she was saying to me. She sniffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"He just hit her. She fell like a ton of bricks, and she laid there. She just laid there and started crying. Phelan kneeled down next to her, and pulled a handful of hair up so she'd look him in the face. And he told her that he couldn't take out Galactica but he could take out everybody right there, so she should pretend none of it happened. Then he started picking out kids. Mostly girls, but a few little boys, too. And he picked me. He said I was old enough to go straight to Cloud Nine. I was too scared to frak with him after that. Miss Evers' eye was already starting to swell up."

She lit up another cigarette, as her hands fumbled with my lighter. I didn't want to imagine why Phelan would want to send her straight to Cloud Nine, or what he could possibly want with little kids. Jim Caffrey would have been able to eliminate the space--tangible and intangible--and give her a hug, let her find a small moment of peace as she relived something no one should have to endure after finding the luck to avoid the bombs. Caff was dead, however. I kept my face a blank slate, and let her talk.

"We were shuttled over to the Prometheus. He said we were traded for a crate of rations and some booze, the stuff in jars--fifteen or sixteen of us. Then the little kids were shoved in a cell that smelled like old shit and piss, and Zenar shoved me out over to the bar, sat me down in Phelan's booth. Phelan started acting a little nicer. Nicer for him, anyway. He told me that I'd hafta work harder than most girls, since I was cute, but skinny. He said that I was under contract. And once I paid back what he was investing in me, I could stay on, and take a bigger cut, or leave if I wanted. I was too scared to say anything. I saw what those guys could do, and they just didn't give a frak."

I could see what was coming. No one would want news about trading kids for noodles to come out. The whole business would come crashing down. He would have no problem doing what it took to keep this a secret, no matter what. Suddenly, we left the edge of the storm and were in the center, waiting to get blown away, if I didn't play this just right. She coughed as she inhaled a bit of filter before crushing out the butt.

"He said my work name was Jade, because my eyes had a little green in 'em. He had one of his guys fix my ID, just in case somebody came snooping around, but he said he doubted it. Everybody had needs, right? Then he had a couple older call girls take me to the showers and clean me up, show me how to put on my makeup. That night I was taken to my suite in the brothels on Cloud Nine, and there were pretty clothes, underwear, makeup, perfume, all that shit, picked out for me. They said I didn't have to know much, but I could learn from the other girls. Sometimes they liked the whole innocent thing…"

I almost didn't stop her, figuring that she had a right to finally sit there and spill her guts to me, someone, anyone, a brick wall. This wasn't Brother Jay's Temple, though. I had to keep my house in order, and I hoped I wouldn't have to throw her into the lion's mouth to do it.

"Why are you here? You could bring a ton of shit down on this tub and I can't let that happen."

Her eyes met mine, and tears made their silent paths down her cheeks as she peeled down her collar. Between two tender, red gouges on either side of her neck was a deep, purple bruise. I let her talk because I couldn't find any words of my own.

"It wasn't so bad, for a while, and then this suit comes in. Lays a stack of cubits on the table. A big wad of cash. He starts telling me what he wants to do to me, and what he wanted me to do to him. It almost made me throw up. I kept telling him no, but he wouldn't listen, and just kept piling up more cubits. I finally went ballistic and told him to get the frak out of my room. He didn't like that too much. He called me a whore, which I didn't get, since that'd be like calling you a mechanic, right?"

Her cheeks were shiny and tears ran into the corners of her mouth, but she still looked me in the eye.

"After a few minutes, Zenar barges in with that big dude, who was part of security. He started bitching at me, and I bitched right back and told him what that sicko wanted. Then he grabbed me by my hair before I could do anything and slammed me against the wall. Then…then that other guy was on me… and I felt wire tighten up around my neck, and it started to bleed, but I was too scared to move. Then Zenar said he was gonna show me what my mouth was supposed to be used for…"

She pulled her collar back up, smiled bitterly.

"Then I gave him the best blowjob I could. I couldn't work for a few weeks, so nobody paid attention to me. A couple of the other girls would check on me, and we'd go to lunch up in the mall on level 2. We saw you in the food court, getting takeout. One of 'em said you came down on Colonial Day, but you were too good to, now, since you were dating Diana Thalyka from Colonial One, and you hung out with the Libron rep. Then I heard you guys needed a welder, and maybe if I got here, you could put a bug in your girl's ear, and maybe she could get the President to send some Marines or something over there, and get the kids out. And me."

I just stared at her, feeling every drop of blood in my veins slide down into my feet. What the hell was I supposed to do? The course of action should have been clear. I could tell Diana, she could tell the President, and then Bill Adama could drop the hammer. Then I remembered that Zenar didn't like to wait, and that silence in matters such as these was a bigger sign of betrayal than noise. I had to look after my guys, above all else. There could be a way, but I had to buy time.

I leaned across the table again, making a point to keep the venom behind my words, to keep her in line, and her mouth shut once I sent her back down below. Candi, as if instinctively, cowered a little.

"Look at me, Candi."

She did as I told her.

"First off. This doesn't leave the room. You don't tell anybody shit. If you do, we're all frakked. Second, if you don't listen to the first point, I'll shoot you out the godsdamned airlock myself. Now get outta here. I'm not promising anything, but I'll check into some things."

She nodded. "Thanks I--"

"You don't have anything to be thankful for except that I didn't stuff you in the main turbine. Now get back downstairs, and do whatever Toby tells you to do--and keep your mouth shut."

She left as fast as she could without running, and I picked up my phone, told Mitchell to patch me through to the Prometheus.

Zenar picked up quickly once I got past the Prometheus flight crew.

"So what's the deal with Candi," I asked him.

I was met with only the muted hiss of static for a breath.

"Phelan's got business with her. She thinks she's a . We can find you a good welder--way better than her. Send her over here and I guarantee we'll get you one within a week."

It was my turn to let him hear some static. I couldn't stutter, I couldn't sound weak. This was just plain crazy.

"We're gonna keep her. I figure we can train her our way and she'll fit in better than someone set in their ways, you know?"

"Now hold on a minute. Phelan doesn't ask for much. But he wants this one back--and he's not asking this time."

Now I really couldn't believe the words that actually came out of my mouth.

"Let me come over and square it up with him."

He paused for an eternity of seconds. I fought stay tough. I was going to stare down the very heartbeat of everything we were doing aboard the Lady, every underground operation in the fleet.

"You're serious?"

"When am I not?"

"Hold on."

After some muted grumbling to someone else, he picked up his phone again.

"Alright. A shuttle will be there in an hour. You better be on it."

I wouldn't be heading straight back to the Lady after my meeting with Phelan. As I bagged up some things I would need, I envisioned a couple scenarios that could play out that would keep Candi on board, assuming he just didn't space my ass. I could settle up, then ask Diana to field some inquiries, that is, if I could actually see they were holding little kids, and little Candelaria was willing to tell her what she went through. Then again, I could go to Bertrand with this and we could get the same result. Then again, I didn't know how dirty his hands were. I thought about the near-reverence he gave to Phelan on Colonial Day, and how he just let Zenar sit on his desk. Already my choices were narrowed by my own inner monologue.

Jeffers passed me in the hall, on my way to the cargo hold and the air lock.

"Well, when's she leaving," Jeffers asked, with his customary professional outrage.

"I don't know yet, Mr. Jeffers."

"You don't know? I need that kid out of here, Krenzik--"

I shouldered by bag, turned to him. This was shit I just didn't need.

"Say the word, Mr. Jeffers when you want to be Foreman, and let me suck down coffee in the cockpit all day. I'll be up in a flash."

I don't know how he took that, but he didn't say a word as I continued on to the catwalk, and saw Nick down by the main turbine, leaning against a pole smoking.

"Hey Nick, I'll be gone till after dinner. Tell Toby he's in charge while I'm gone."

Nick Sorg groaned, looked up at me.

"Why you gotta send me on all your little dummy missions."

I shrugged. "Why are you always standing around not doing shit? Go tell him."

"Fine! I better hurry up before that girl burns the frakkin' shop down!"

Nick stomped off, his blood pressure probably in the red once again. With my luck he would probably have a heart attack, and leave me wondering what other chaos would come through our airlock looking for a job.

IV

The Prometheus was a mid-range interstellar freighter similar to the Lady, but older, and with a much larger hold that could take incoming ships. Old titans like this couldn't enter a planet's atmosphere, even. Some newer frigate Battlestars weren't this large. That bucket had to be nearly 40 years old. You almost never saw such a large dock on a freighter anymore. It was more cost effective not to have a full-blown deck gang in addition to a regular maintenance crew. I wondered how Phelan came upon such a large vessel. Then again, I knew how he gained control of prostitution, firearms, liquor and everything else. It wasn't so surprising.

After we lowered into the hangar bay, I was greeted by a mechanic in a yellow jumpsuit. He was an older guy with two gold teeth, who pointed me toward a hatch that he said would lead me right to "where the action was."

The corroded bulkheads of that narrow corridor were lined with merchants, ranging from grimy hustlers in rags to crisp salesmen who gave you any line to make you buy. I had fruit, porno magazines, homemade cd's and cigarettes surrounding me. One little, darkskinned guy waved a pack of Athena Filters in my face. Just to get him away from me I handed him a five-spot, tucked the pack in my right breast pocket.

A garishly made up prostitute, who caked on the foundation as if it would spackle in the hard lines of her face, sidled up to me, and winked. I made a face, and she pouted as she turned away from me. She had a bit of lipstick smeared on her front teeth.

Amidst the din of manic commerce, I heard scuttling, and tiny voices in distress, to my right. There was a hatch, with a small, circular port with a wired grate cut into the steel. I didn't want to look. The smell was exactly as Candi described, and I fought the urge to gag. Piled up on rags, each other, looking up at me was a sea of sad little eyes and outstretched hands. I felt a tug at my arm, from behind.

"You don't keep the man waiting," Zenar said, definite anger shifting below his features.

I looked down at his fingers around my arm, thought of how big and bad he felt, unzipping his fly as Candi was being choked.

"You taking me to the prom, Zenar?"

Phelan's number one mouthpiece sneered, and released his grip. "This way."

The hall widened out into a bar, bustling with hookers, gangsters, and merchants bathed in multiple hues of neon that gave a metaphysical tint to all the smoke. At the back, in a leather horseshoe booth was Phelan, in a meticulously tailored gray suit and crisp white shirt with gold cufflinks. He still adorned his fingers with thick gold and diamonds, nestling a cigar between the finery on his right hand. Next to him was a heavyset, graying man in a Colonial Fleet day uniform. As we got closer, I could see Commander's bars. He had to be Cain's replacement on Pegasus. I felt as if I was seeing something that others would get killed for viewing, but there was nowhere to run.

A blonde, roundfaced prostitute with gold-flecked eye shadow brushed by me and smiled.

"Hey, Mr. Fixit, why dontcha show me what's in your toolbox, hmmm?"

"Get lost, Sparkle." Zenar snapped. She gave him a dirty look before heading back to the bar.

I was stopped by a dark-haired man, about my height, but build like a brick wall. I had a feeling he was the one with the penchant for piano wire. He patted me down, nodded to Zenar. Phelan locked onto me with his deeply set, always working eyes and gestured for me to sit down. I slid in, to his left, across from the Commander, who had his pudgy, weathered face stuck in a rocks glass. Zenar stood upright, with his hands clasped in front, next to Mr. Piano Wire.

"So," Phelan said, dark eyes sliding over to me as he laid his cigar in a thick crystal ashtray, as a ribbon of gray smoke drifted upward. "It appears we have an issue that needs resolved."

I nodded. He sat motionless, as if waiting for me to break eye contact. I did not, and he turned to the officer.

"Forgive my manners, Commander. This is Jay Krenzik. He is the head of maintenance aboard the Lady of Libron II, one of our key alcohol suppliers and one of the shops that brokers their services around the fleet. He also provides us with much needed cargo space for certain key shipments."

He returned to me, gestured to the Commander.

"This is Commander Fisk, of the Pegasus. He recently joined our network, bolstering our distribution for the future."

Fisk nodded to me. I nodded in return. Great. Just frakking great. I was taking on Pegasus now. I thought back to what the Chief from the Seventh Star said about that ship having more guns than toilets. They protected us from the Cylons, but who would protect us from them? Galactica during the coup didn't look as frightening any longer.

"I think we got a couple cases of your hooch aboard Pegasus," he said, raising his glass in salute. "It's a lot smoother than what Galactica offers. Well done."

"Thank you," I replied. I didn't feel the ingrained need to call him "sir," as when I met Adama, months ago at the Wall.

Fisk rose, careful not to let his belly move the table. "If you'll excuse, gentlemen. I have business elsewhere. I'll see you later, Phelan."

"You will," the gangster replied, as the Commander sifted through the crowd, back toward the hangar bay.

"Now," he said, turning his head slightly back to me. "Zenar tells me you want to keep Candi on your ship, despite my desire for her return. You, like your predecessor, have always done your part and gladly held up your end of business. What would compel you to sit in front of me and have the balls to withhold her from me?"

I didn't know how much longer I could stare him in the face and still maintain my nerve. I remembered the pack of cigarettes I bought on the way in. I slid it from my pocket, undid the wrapper, giving my eyes an excuse not to look at him, or feel his thugs loom over me.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

He almost smiled as his eyes narrowed a little.

"Does it look like I give a shit about secondhand smoke?"

"Just checking, Phelan," I told him as I held it to my lighter's flame. I already felt a little more relaxed. Who said glorifying smoking in cinema couldn't help someone out in a pinch?

"In answer to your question, I don't think withhold is the right word."

I paused, anticipating he would interject, but he just sat there, expressionless, waiting as if he had all the time in the galaxy.

"I want to cut a deal for her."

The dark-haired goon shifted uneasily and Zenar glared at me. I was rocking his little boat, but truly I didn't care. In fact, I was starting to enjoy it. I tried to focus on that as I continued haggling with this gold encrusted demon.

"A…deal? But why for her? I can get you a top welder that I can guarantee will be happy to be a part of your crew. What makes her worth rocking the boat?"

If I pulled this off, Zenar would shit himself. I tried to focus on that instead of the chance that I could end up a subtraction on Roslin's board. Phelan didn't seem to like asskissers, and he tired of verbal fencing, easily, since we ran in a tight circle around the obvious.

"She…told me everything."

Phelan exhaled sharply through his nose, as if suddenly overtaken with a stunning revelation, even though this was the reason I was in this booth. I decided to fill the silence again.

"But I think you already figured she did, or I wouldn't be sitting here."

"You're sharp. That's why you're Bertand's golden boy. And since you're so sharp, you probably already knew that, too. But I don't think you know what you're truly asking for. In these trying times, actions can have a noticeable ripple effect on people you have never even seen. You're at a juncture where your actions can indeed impact many. And what you ask of me will do just that."

"I understand that. I--"

"But do you really? You need to understand the situation from all sides before you even think about cutting a deal for Candi. I am not some gaudy pimp with streetwalkers who bring me all their money after a night of turning tricks. The prostitutes aboard Cloud Nine keep a portion of their earnings, and after a time, when my initial investment is covered at a fair profit, they can either leave, or continue working. They also pay nominal costs for comprehensive medical care and room and board. She was under such a contract, and owes me."

I was pretty sure that one of Phelan's girls didn't work off their contract in any time frame that left a woman still in her prime when it was over. I almost asked him what his notion of fair profit was, but I was showing my ass enough already. Phelan cleared his throat, relit his cigar.

"Now, as far as her situation goes, there is a right way and a wrong way to turn away a customer. I don't know how much detail she went into, but the individual in question was…why mince words… a sick frak. Her conduct, however was inexcusable and required reprimand. I concede that my management team…"

He paused, making a point to shift his deeply set eyes over to Zenar and the other thug.

"… overreacted."

I wanted to smile so hard that my face hurt to keep my features in check as Zenar couldn't look his boss in the face. He didn't say a word. I guessed he knew what his mouth was for.

"This situation, by itself isn't a big deal," he continued. "Candi was nothing special, and inexperienced. However, if other disgruntled ladies see that I let her off with a clean slate after that, management problems could increase, others may try to jump ship in violation of their contracts. This means that releasing her would force me to implement a zero-tolerance policy with discipline, and cause possible harm for minor infractions to other girls. Do you understand?"

I hadn't thought of it in those terms, but I remembered how smooth he was. Phelan could dangle the carrot and haggle just as well as he could bust heads. I thought of the wounds gouged into Candi's neck, and simply nodded.

"Good. Now, there is the issue of…the Picon Liner. This was not something you were supposed to ever be aware of, and, obviously, this is highly toxic information. Not even Bertrand knows of this. We need you--and him--to stay as clean as possible. When you take on Candi's debt, you also are responsible for her silence. Is this clear?"

I couldn't turn back. I was stuck. Wasting his time walking out of there wouldn't get me any points, and it certainly would mean Candi would end up dead--a slave at best.

"That's understood," I said.

"Now here is where I'm not sure about you, Jay."

This was the first time he said my name. The way it escaped is lips made me feel as if he ripped a tiny chunk out of me.

"You saw the hatch leading from the hangar deck to me, and the children inside, didn't you?"

I opened my mouth, but was silenced as he raised his hand.

"Before you answer that, while it's on my mind, I heard you and Diana Thalyka, one of Roslin's flunkies, have a relationship of sorts. Is that correct?"

Another chunk ripped out of me as he formed the words of her name, as if, by doing so, he owned a little of her too.

"Right."

"I think it's good she finally moved off Colonial One, to the Liner, but I'm sure it worries you that her security detail is barely trained, and not very well compensated. With rations as tight as they are, and with everyone's innate need for more, you must wonder about her safety."

I just stared at him, and Phelan held his gaze, as still as the table we sat at.

"Now, getting back to my original question, what about that hatch with all the children inside?"

He didn't take a little chunk out of me. Phelan had all of me. I realized then that I never sold my soul to Bertrand, I had it all along, still, until that moment. It wasn't anything special, either. Everyone had to play the numbers game, decide who was worth more, who had to live, or die, or suffer. Just because I didn't sit on Colonial One, or wear bars on my collar didn't mean I was innocent of that any longer. Small consolation was had in knowing that I would spend nights staring in the darkness along with top brass a few clicks away.

"What hatch?"

Phelan nodded, approvingly. He actually smiled too, letting the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly, as though it were an event. I almost wanted to throw up.

"Good man. Now the terms are these. You will ensure that Candi shuts her mouth. Then, you will supply me with an extra ten cases a week for the next month. Forty cases of booze for a whore who took metal shop is adequate, but believe me, I'm cutting you a deal, because you are important to my above-board interests. Now, I'm afraid I have other pressing business to deal with. Keep up the great work. You have a future in this fleet, assuming it does."

I was correct in assuming the shuttle jockey would take me to the luxury liner and wait for me in exchange for the three jars of Lady Home Brew in my bag. I didn't go see Bertrand, and I was glad that I knew Diana wasn't home. I couldn't look her in the face anyway, although I felt the need to hold her tight, as if I was drowning in a tar pit of my own creation. I could have still told her what happened, but she wouldn't take it easy, wouldn't take it slow. Diana would gladly march straight into the monster's jaws to save those kids, and one morning, she wouldn't wake up. If she ever found out what I did, she would hate me forever, and I knew that. It burned in my thoughts as I gave Phelan my complicity, my loyalty. In that moment, as I took the elevator down to the second level of the ring, I knew that I loved her, when I was willing to sacrifice a cell full of children to keep her safe, in a deal that spun out of my control.

Level two held a shopping mall, which was more of a residential area, now. Tight security and Bertrand's influence kept this area still clean and safe. I knew an old man--a tailor-- who roomed with two passengers out of his fine clothing store and embroidery shop. He bartered items for all sorts of clothes, and I remembered he had some work gear. His name was Leonard, and he sat at his counter, reading the latest issue of "Scuttlebutt," which, thankfully, had nothing to do with me.

He greeted me warmly, and was ready to do some business when I pulled two fifths of gin and a box of Apollonian cigars from my bag.

V

Toby followed me all the way from the aft airlock back to my quarters, seemingly bent on annoying the frak out of me.

"Have you told Jeffers yet that you're keeping her?"

"No."

"He's gonna shit himself!"

My quarters weren't getting close soon enough.

"I'm sure he will."

"So why are you doing it?"

Finally, my door.

I turned to him, Candi's mother hen for the next…Gods knew how long.

"You were right, Toby. She wants to learn. We can train her our way. That's better than getting somebody who thinks they know everything."

He gaped at me.

"That's it?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Bullshit! You gonna tell me the whole story?"

I smiled as I spun the hatch.

"Nope. Send her up here ASAP."

Toby shook his head.

"Okay, man. But since I'm supposed to be your right hand and all that, I think I should know."

I extended my hand, grasped his in a firm shake.

"You are, but I can't. Not this time. You gotta respect that. I have my reasons, and it's for everybody's own good. Hers and ours. You got me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I got you. I'll go get her."

I was actually in an okay mood, trying to focus on who I had helped that day--Candi. My job wasn't done, though. She had to know in no uncertain terms what I expected, what was needed if this was to work. I left my bundle for her on the table, and bid her enter when she knocked.

Candi shut the hatch and just stood imploring me. The cuffs of her baggy pants puddled a little around the boots she snatched from Gods-knew-where.

"You got the job," I said. Her lips spread into a wide, crooked grin, but softened again. She approached, looked up at me.

"What about the others," she asked me in a hushed voice, as if the man in the booth could hear all.

I shook my head.

"I got you out. That's it."

"But--"

"I said that's it!"

I made a point to lord over her, poke her in the forehead again.

"And you tell no one! And I mean not one frakking soul or you're dogmeat. That was the best deal I could get for you. And you damn well better not forget it."

Her mouth hung open, moving before the words came out.

"I won't, Jay. I promise."

"Good. See that on the table? Those are yours."

She turned to the bundle, giving me a quizzical look.

"Open it."

She did, and pulled out five dark gray shortsleeved work shirts. They were a little too big, but they were the best I could do in light of her munchkin size. On the left sleeve was the Lady of Libron II insignia patch. The New Castle Freight logo was sewn above the left breast pocket, and the patch above the right had her first name in cursive script, just like ours.

We kept Mangan's and Caff's old uniforms in case we needed to patch up ours. It was no problem to remove the patches from Mangan's shirts. Leonard did an excellent job ripping out the "Adam" and made the script so close you could barely tell the difference. Luckily, our stuff was so standard it was easy to dig through the piles in shop and find a few that matched, in sizes that wouldn't look like a dress on her.

She just stared at her embroidered name, lips stretched into a beaming grin.

"You just remember, you gotta earn those still. When you're not sleeping, eating, or shitting, you're gonna learn what you need to replace two guys. And you better not let me down--"

"I won't! I swear on my mother I won't," she said, shaking her head emphatically.

She slid the shirt on over her turtleneck and buttoned it up. Yeah, it was a little big, but not so loose that she would catch a shirt sleeve in machinery or catch herself on fire. Her eyes grew a little wet, as she looked to me, in a shirt with my name on it, just like hers.

"You'll be proud of me, Jay. I promise."

"Go on," I told her. "Get outta here and put them in your locker. I'll see you and the rest at breakfast."

She gave me one last warm glance, hugging the pile of shirts against her before leaving.

She was safe, but sometimes we needed more than three hots and a cot. I already scared her into silence, and safe haven was good incentive too, but this would make her feel like a part of something a little bigger than she was--that she belonged somewhere. Out of this mess, I had to make sure somebody could sleep a little better at night.

(TO BE CONTINUED IN "KRENZIK'S WAR II PART 3")


End file.
